


The String Theory

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, HERE BE SEASON THREE SPOILERS, I WOULD HOLD OFF UNTIL YOU HAVE WATCHED SEASON THREE, feels trip, not a fix it but a sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: He reads, he waits, he talks to her.Heavy spoilers for the finale of Stranger Things Three.





	1. Chapter 1

#  _ I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me. _

―  **Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre**

One year in, and they finally relented on books. Jim Hopper never considered himself much of a reader, until he had absolutely fuck-all to do but listen to the shrieks from the nearby cells when it was time for selection. They never came for him, though once, early on in his captivity, he heard their footsteps pause in front of his door. There was a firm murmur, and then the footsteps retreated. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but since the footsteps never again paused near his cell during those days, he assumed it meant he had a permanent reprieve. He had a purpose. He was useful, for once in his miserable life, though he couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of use he could be. A political prisoner was too far fetched, even considering the events of the past few years, and bait was simply too dreadful for him to dwell upon.

They kept him fed - meager bland fare - and they kept him clean, though they didn’t let him use razors. There was a small, oval mirror above his sink - warped and dirty but he could see that he was more old, eccentric prospector than Tom Selleck nowadays. Not that it mattered. At least he had his books now. Most of them were in Russian, but every once in a while, they would sleep in an old Popular Mechanics Magazine, or classic literature that Joyce always seemed to want to get him to read in High School, but he never did. He couldn’t wait to tell her that he had cracked open  _ Jane Eyre  _ and was devouring it. 

“You are ridiculously shaggy, Hop.”

And then there was her. No, he wasn’t losing his mind, thank-you-very-much - Joyce Byers was a deliberate creation of his mind, constructed and placed purposefully so he  _ wouldn’t _ start eating his own fingernails. With her at his side, he could plan and discuss, even though there wasn’t much to plan and discuss. He was fucking stuck. It had occurred to him to conjure up Elle, but the poor kid had spent so much time locked away that he thought it wouldn’t be fair to bring her to this cold, squalid dungeon, even if she was a figment. Anyway, Joyce always knew how to ground him, and her wit kept him constantly on his toes. He had about 40 years of Joycisms to pull from, for nearly every occasion. 

“Well, what should I do, chew it off?”

“You should get the fuck out of here, is what.”

Jim turned away from the sink, his gaze settling on the edge of his cot, where she was perched ever-so-Joyce-like, a ghost of a half smile quirking one corner of her mouth, her hands folded primly in her lap. 

“Oh yeah, Smart ass, how do you suggest I do that?”

“Open the door.”

“Real funny.”

Joyce picked up a battered paperback that was resting at her side. She tutted at the dog-eared pages and she skimmed, opening it up to a page that Jim’s clumsy fingers had tread over many times before. 

“‘ _ I have a strange feeling with regard to you--” _

“Stop.” He felt his chest constrict, hearing the words flow from her mouth. Not that passage. He had gone over it until his eyelids ached, but never with her voice in mind for fear it would break him.

“Is this how you feel about me? That I’d forget you?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe you have.”

Joyce shook her head, setting the book back onto the cot. “If you feel that way, open the door and come home to me.”

Jim’s eyes stung then, he dashed away the threat of tears with the back of his right hand. “I can’t,” he whispered feebly. “I don’t know how.”

Joyce sighed and looked towards the door with a shrug. “I guess I really do have to do everything for you.”

The door flew open. Jim backed away, his lower spine colliding painfully with the hard porcelain of the sink. What appeared to be a short, squat man in a hazmat suit stepped into his cell, and Jim immediately felt the muscles in his calves and forearms tense as he pulled himself into a defensive position. Maybe it was his time to be culled, maybe so, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. His stance eased as he came to a strange realization. 

“That’s not standard uniform, soldier. Who are you?” He asked, his voice tinny and hoarse from disuse. 

The man stepped forward until there was barely three inches of space between the two of them, and pulled off his face obscuring hood. It wasn’t a man at all.

“Someone who loves you.” 

“Joyce.”

She pulled at the front of his stained, grey uniform shirt and stood on her tiptoes in order to press her mouth against his. He wrapped his arms about her and lifted, eager to bring her to his level so he could deepen the kiss that tasted like… a filthy pillow case.

Jim’s eyes flew open, and all he could see was white. He pulled himself to a sitting position on his cot and looked down at his nearly flat pillow, the filthy, greying material slightly damp from his drool. He let out a hoarse sob, burying his face in his hands as his body was wracked with grief and frustration. 

Soft laughter floated down the hall, barely penetrating the thick walls of his cell. Curiosity overtaking his gnawing sorrow, he stood and walked to the door, pressing his ears against it. The guards were watching  _ Return of the Jedi _ . It wasn’t his favorite of the trilogy, nor was it in English, but he closed his eyes and conjured the scene he imagined was playing. Sometimes he could pick up which movies they were watching, and he’d let his brain play them out, vivid and technicolor. 

Tears rolled down his cheek as the invisible string grew more taut. 

___________

“Open the door and come home to me.”

This was getting ridiculous. He had not brought Joyce to this place to torture him, and that was all she seemed to do lately. Pleading, and then relenting before offering him a false hope, a fake rescue. He wanted her to go away, and maybe he’d conjure someone less complicated like…

“How dare you!”

Joyce stood with her arms crossed under her chest, her dark brow furrowed into an indignant glare.

“What did I do now?”

“Trying to replace me with Chrissy Carpenter. What is this, High School? You haven’t even seen her since then. You’d have a… a teenager in here. Hop, that’s disgusting! You’re a pig.”

Oh thank god. He’d take bickering over torturing by possibilities any day of the week. 

“It’s nice to see you jealous for a change,” he smirked before getting up from his cot and crossing the room to brush his teeth and wash his face. 

“I am not, not have I ever been--”

“Lies.”

Joyce crossed the room to stand at his side. “I’ll just leave!” She announced.

“No you won’t, I’ll just bring you back. Maybe a sweeter version of you, too.”

“Ha!” Joyce leaned against the sink. “Won’t matter soon. You’ll get what you get.”

Jim whipped his head around to give her a hard stare.

“What do you mean?”

“Routine bed check!” A voice announced from the door he hadn’t heard open. Before he could turn to acknowledge the intruder, he felt a pinprick against the side of his neck. The world blurred and doubled as he collapsed onto his back. Two sets of big brown eyes set within a small oval face… and then he knew no more.

This time, he awoke to the sounds of beeping machinery, the bedding beneath him considerably more soft than the usual cement slab. Panic beat wild against his chest when he glanced at one arm and saw IV’s stick out, there were tubes in his nose too.

“Chiefo, you gotta calm down. You are dehydrated and malnourished,” came a soothing, male voice that had a touch of New York City to it. He turned his head and found himself looking up at Dr. Sam Owens.

“Wh-wha…” he couldn’t get the words out, his throat was so sore.

“Don’t talk. You’re safe.”

“Dream...ing…”

“God damn it, Hop, he said don’t talk!” Jim’s eyes widened as Joyce Byers appeared behind Dr. Owens. She appeared pale, and outraged, a bandage covering most of her forehead. He frowned and let out a low grunt of concern.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. 

Dr. Owens immediately stood aside and excused himself from the unfamiliar room.

“You are in a hospital in Tokyo of all places.”

“But… why…”

“Another word out of your and I’ll pinch your feeding tube.” Tears sprang to Joyce’s eyes as her chin wrinkled up. He wanted nothing more than to stand and pull her into his arms, but he settled for interlacing his fingers with hers and squeezing as his own tears began to fall.

“You missed our goddamn dinner, Hopper.”


	2. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world didn't stop just because he got off.

_______

“You need to get me out of this hospital, Joyce. I’m going crazy, here,” Jim groused as he attempted to pull himself into a sitting position. Joyce stood and pressed firmly against his left shoulder, pushing him back against the pillows. She hushed him, and brushed a few errant strands of hair away from his eyes. He was in too foul of a mood to revel in the intimacy of the gesture. 

“Owens is going to talk to your team today. You were pretty sick when we found you. Pneumonia isn’t something to play around with at your age.”

Jim sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It had been three days of lying in wait. At least in his cell, he had been allowed to walk around. Sometimes, but not often, they even took him out into the prison yard. 

“It won’t be long, I promise. I have to get back in time for the Spring semester and work won’t--”

“Huh?” Jim narrowed his eyes, a confused smile pulling at his lips. “You work at a school?”

Joyce shook her head, color rising to her cheeks. It was no small source of personal embarrassment, going to school at her age. Moving to a new town had been nice, in that no one knew her story or cast pitying glances her way - at least not until she enrolled in the local community college. She always tried to sit in the very back, near the exit, as not to attract any attention, but the much younger students always studied her like she was some sort of freakish specimen. 

“I - uh - I go to school. Part-time, though, the station can’t spare me that much.”

Jim exhaled, his curious smile turning into a wide grin, his blue eyes sparkling. 

“What are you…”

“Criminal justice. I work dispatch at the police department to get my foot in the door, but I don’t think they’re as enamored with the idea of Detective Byers as you… Oh no, don’t cry.”

Jim wiped at his eyes with his palms, sniffling as he tried, and failed, to stem the tide of exhausted and proud tears that rolled down his cheeks at Joyce’s news. For one, the fact that she was going back to school- something she had told him, eons ago, when he was trying to get her to leave Hawkins (and Lonnie) that she was too stupid for - made his chest swell with delight. The fact that she was pursuing becoming a detective, something that had started as a little joke between them… the world had not stopped and burned when he had left. Life had gone on, and flourished. 

Joyce was at his side, her fingers caressing his scalp as she made soothing, nonsense noises at him. He leaned into her touch, not caring that his hair was still long, ratty, and impossibly dirty. She bit her lip, and blinked hard in order to stop her own tears.

“It’s okay, Hopper. We’re all okay.” 

“Our kids - are they safe?”

Joyce nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching at his choice of words. “They are. They’re not here, even though they wanted to be. I made them stay at the Wheelers while Murray and I came to find you.”

Jim lifted a hand and brushed the bangs away from Joyce’s forehead. She no longer wore a bandage, but there was an angry line of stitches in its place. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. Just a little run-in with the butt-end of a rifle, is all.”

Jim cursed under this breath, moving his hand so he could cup her cheek. “Those shitty bastards, I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

Joyce snorted. “No. You’re not doing anything but coming home with me.” She wrinkled her nose at his great, bushy beard, and took a few strands of his scraggly hair between her thumb and forefinger. “And getting a shave and a haircut.”

“Two bits,” he echoed in a sing-song voice, causing them both to burst into gentle laughter. 

“I really missed you,” Joyce admitted, her voice tight and thick. This time she didn’t fight the tears that spilled down her cheek. Jim swiped at a few with his thumb and made a low, humming sound. 

“You kept me alive, you know. Back in that prison… I - uh - kinda conjured you up in my mind to keep me sane.”

“You wanted to keep sane, so you thought of me?” Joyce laughed through her tears. “I thought I drove you crazy?”

Jim bit his lip and furrowed his brow. “I thought a lot about how I acted towards you those last few days, things I said; God, Joyce, I’m so sorry. I was a real asshole, and you didn’t deserve that. It really hit me when Murray said that I reminded you of a bad relationship… that I reminded you of Lonnie.”

“Stop. It doesn’t matter.” Joyce leaned forward to kiss his cheek; he turned at the last second, so her lips connected with his. It was as soft as it was stunning, and Joyce pulled away after a brief second, her cheeks blazing. 

“Oh.”

“Was… was that okay?”

Joyce blinked several times before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Just - uh - let’s do it again after we get that bird’s nest off of your face, okay?” She wrinkled her nose and then itched it with her forefinger. 

“It’s a deal.”

“And a proper bath too. You smell.”

“Keep talking and I’ll change my mind.”

__________

Jim was able to shower before the long trip home. Somehow, there wasn’t a proper shaving kit to be found in the hospital, which he didn’t mind. It was something to look forward to when he returned home… wherever that was going to be now. Thankfully, Joyce had the foresight to bring him his own clothes, though they hung off of his now-wiry frame, and Joyce had to puncture a brand new notch on his belt, when previously he would’ve been lucky to get enough slack to hook it on the second hole.. It didn’t matter, they were his, and they were comfortable. 

“I can’t believe you kept these,” he marveled as she adjusted the collar of his flannel. Murray was waiting outside of the hospital room, impatient to ‘Get the fuck outta Japan’.

Joyce shrugged. “El likes to wear your clothes. She said it makes her feel closer to you, but a part of me thinks that she never stopped believing…” she trailed off and sniffed. “She would’ve looked for you, you know.”

Jim frowned. “Why didn’t she?”

Joyce stepped back, and placed her hands on her hips as she worried at her bottom lip with her front teeth, her gaze fixed on an imperfection in the linoleum. “She - uh - she lost her powers.” 

Jim gasped, his chest swelling with wonder and relief. “Really? That’s… that’s great, Joyce. She’s just an ordinary kid now, huh?”

Joyce looked up at him with a sad, little smile. “Yeah, I guess so. She’s adjusting as well as can be expected.”

“Still with Mike?”

“In a long distance sort of way.” Her shoulders slumped at his quizzical, searching expression. “We moved. It was hard without you for her - for all of us. My aunt moved to an apartment, so she’s renting us her home in Elgin.”

“Illinois?” Distaste put a wrinkle in his nose and a furrow in his heavy brow. “What, are you all a buncha Bears fans now?”

“No, none of us like football. We do go to Wrigley every once in a while - don’t make a noise.”

“It’s fine.”

Joyce snorted. “It’s a nice, big house. We’ve got plenty of room… for you.”

Jim blinked. “Joyce Byers, are you asking me to live in sin with you? We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

“Yet.”

“CAN YOU LOVEBIRDS PLEASE WRAP IT UP?” Murray poked his head into the door-frame, his bearded face a mask of outraged impatience.


	3. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flights are overbooked, single king bed rooms are not an issue.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE CONNECTING FLIGHT IS OVERBOOKED?”

“Sir, I am going to need you to lower your voice. Now, we can’t upgrade you, but what we can do--”

Jim and Joyce stood behind Murray Bauman, both shifting their weight uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact with the poor airport employee their friend was currently berating; Joyce, because she was biting down hard on the urge to add fuel to the fire; Jim because he was exhausted and self-conscious about his wild beard, and long, untamed mane of hair. 

“LOWER THIS!” Murray exploded, waving two middle fingers in the air. 

“Murray, come on,” Jim mumbled.

“Can you control your friend before I call security?” The man-behind-the-counter implored. 

“Well, when’s the next flight to Indianapolis?” Joyce pressed.

“Tomorrow at 8 PM.”

“GODDAMN IT!

____________

“You know it would’ve been better to wait for the flight than to rent a car,” Jim complained from the backseat.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Hopper,” Joyce replied, her lap filled with an awkwardly unfolded map of the United States.

“Wifey is right, Jimbo.”

Jim heaved a sigh. A year ago, he might’ve gotten involved in Joyce and Murray’s little customer service spat, but as it was…

“I need to sleep,” he stated, his voice heavy and tinged with sadness.

“Can we wait until we’re out of fucking Cali-cali... “ Murray let out a yawn, and then a yelp that was echoed by all the occupants of the rented Bonneville when he swerved into the adjacent lane.

“No,” Joyce decided, once her panic had subsided.

They pulled into the parking lot of the nearest roadside motel, it’s gigantic, whale-shaped neon sign advertising clean beds, family fun, and basic cable. Murray took the lead once more, all but marching into the front office with Jim and Joyce in tow. 

“Two rooms, king beds,” he announced to the bored teenage girl behind the counter. She looked up from her copy of Rolling Stone and assessed the trio. “All of our rooms with kings just have the one bed.”

Murray gestured wildly at Jim and Joyce. 

“Does it look like it’s going to be a problem?”

________

I can sleep on the couch,“ Jim insisted, his body swaying slightly to one side as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

The motel room was small and gaudy with seascapes, but clean. Already, the soft sounds of Murray Bauman snoring in the adjacent room floated into their little world.

Joyce shook her head as she hefted a large black suitcase onto the bed and began digging. "No, you need a comfortable bed for once.”

She handed him the pair of flannel sleeping pants and a matching top she had picked up during the hellishly long drive, before removing her own sleeping shirt, and a small clutch containing toiletries. She started to head towards the bathroom, but paused when she heard him clear his throat.

“Do you want to use it first?” She asked.

“No. I just… is that my shirt?”

Joyce went flush all over when she realized she was holding Jim’s old uniform shirt. To be perfectly honest, she had slept in it every night since she had moved away from Hawkins. It had been such a fixture in her routine, that it hadn’t even occurred to her to pack something different.

“Yeah.” She bit her lower lip and averted her eyes.

He exhaled sharply. “Oh.”

Joyce twisted the fabric of his uniform shirt between her hands. “Hop, I can wear something else if it’s weird.”

Jim shook his head. “No! No, please wear it.” He cleared his throat, conscious of the slight whining plea in his tone. Joyce Byers wearing nothing but his shirt was definitely not on his top ten list of Most Exquisite Fantasies - not at all. 

“Okay.”

“And you can get changed in the bathroom. I’ll get ready in here.”

Joyce nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Jim stood, still as a statue for a few beats, before rubbing his face with his palms. He cringed at scratchy wilderness beneath his palms. 

“Get it together,” he breathed, shakily, before changing into his sleeping pants. 

Joyce emerged from the bathroom, almost shyly, her gaze laser-focused on the cornflower-blue carpeting beneath her bare feet. Jim was thankful for the fact that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, or the image would’ve clear bowled him over; the hem of his shirt brushed her knees, and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows - her long auburn hair was pulled back into a messy, low ponytail. He grabbed the nearest pillow and casually placed it on his lap. 

“Joyce–”

“Don’t say anything!” she spat out. “You don’t have to say anything,” she added, with measured gentleness.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, anyway. 

“That’s a line,” Joyce snorted as she moved to unfold the pullout couch. 

“Don’t.” She frowned at Jim’s requested, but halted her movements, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make up the couch. Come sleep with me - er - share the bed. I don’t want…” Jim took a deep breath and chuckled. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Joyce nodded. “Okay.”

“No funny business.”

“I know. I told you that. Not until…” she gestured wildly around her face.

“Yeah. I should take you on that date too first, yeah?” Jim scooted up the bed until his back was comfortably pressed against a pillow by the headboard. Joyce crossed the room, and took the opposite side, leaving room for ‘The Holy Spirit’ as her mother had been known to say.

“I have been waiting for it for a little over a year now,” she stated, with a sad smile. She reached over, crossing the barrier between them so she could rest her hand near his side. He took the proffered hand in his, giving it a good squeeze before caressing the soft skin with his thumb. Their eyes locked, and held.

“I don't think I'll ever get sick of looking at you,” Jim confessed.

“Give it time.” This time, she crossed the barrier with her entire body, cuddling against his side. He slid down until they were both lying on their backs, giving a happy little sigh as she twisted to her side and rested her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was strong, and slightly accelerated - his chest was warm.


End file.
